Lumberjacked (A Holiday Lumberjack Mountain Man Romance) - K.C. Crowne Page 0,2
of my mind that I was making a colossal mistake, and lifted her in my arms again. She was unconscious, so she wouldn’t know how we got to the cabin, I rationalized.
The trek to the cabin was a little harder after the mudslide. The ground was slippery and unstable, and I had to leave my axe. Couldn’t carry her and it, so I’d have to come back later. I made it after nearly double the time I would have made it on a normal day and welcomed the comfort of my home nestled in the shadows.
The cabin was small but cozy, and it was comfortable for what I needed. The bedroom and bathroom were separate from the open plan living room and kitchenette, and I had running water after I’d tinkered some with existing, rusting pipes. The water came from a natural stream higher up, but I had managed to get it flowing into the house.
The cabin was warm when I shouldered open the door and carried her to my bedroom. I carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. I studied her more closely, making sure she didn’t have any visibly serious injuries. A bump to the head, a few minor scratches and bruises, but nothing appeared to be broken.
Carefully, I peeled the torn jacket from her shoulders. She moaned softly when I moved her, and the sound made my balls tighten.
Fuck. What I would give to... Nyet, I scolded myself again. I would not give in to my primal urge.
The blouse she wore gaped dangerously low. The top two buttons had snapped, and the swell of one breast showed, leaving just enough to the imagination.
My cock punched against my jeans - cursing me for trying so hard to tame the beast inside. I wanted her, that much was excessively clear. I hadn’t responded like this to a woman in a long time, but my cock had a mind of its own, straining upward, needing a release.
I’d seen a few women when stopping by the local town for supplies over the years, but no one like her. Had I been the same man I once was, this internal struggle probably wouldn’t have even existed. I would have waited for her to awaken, seduced her, and fucked her brains out. But now, I didn’t want the complications a woman added to my life.
I had to contain myself. I huffed with frustration and turned away to focus on something else. My shoulder was throbbing. I cursed and tried to look at the back of my shoulder. Blood had fused my shirt against my skin, and I grunted when I tried to pull it off, feeling the fabric pulling at the wound. I walked to the bathroom, intending to take care of the large gash and forget about the stunning woman laying on my bed.
I needed to take care of myself. I needed to keep my head straight. I glanced through the door to the bed where I could see most of her body and part of her face. Her clothes were dirty and torn. Not ideal for the bruises all over her body.
If I could keep my shit together, I would have to undress her. Get rid of the clothing that hung on her body like she was doing it a damn favor - at least she was by my assessment of her luscious curves.
Even in her unconscious state, everything about her was beautiful, pure. Angelic.
What the fuck had she been doing on the mountainside? And so early? Her truck – I assumed it was hers – was probably fucked beyond recognition. We would deal with that later. One thing at a time.
I finally got my shirt off my back. It was ripped where the branch had dug into my skin, and the wound looked nasty, the skin jagged and ripped. I splashed cold water on it and hissed at the pain.
I couldn’t do much else to the wound because of its placement, so I focused on the unexpected guest in my bedroom. I needed to make sure there was hot water when she woke up. I had running water but not much heat, so I walked to the stove and put on a kettle.
When my damsel in distress awoke, I could offer her something warm to drink to help soothe her fears. The fears that would surely come after realizing she was alone in a cabin with a colossal Russian, inked up with mob tattoos.